


Loud Pipes

by stayingputwouldbeablunder



Series: All We Are [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, sciencey facts you never knew you wanted to know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:10:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stayingputwouldbeablunder/pseuds/stayingputwouldbeablunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I thought you said you were going to work with Scott.” Derek's eyes are zeroed in on his pile of stuff now; he didn’t think there would be <em>that</em> much sand.</p><p>“I did. That involved walking up and down a beach all day.” Stiles pinches the hem of his rash guard before pulling it over his head, wincing as the collar scrapes over a sunburnt patch of skin on his neck. “I may or may not have pissed off a beachmaster, gotten chased, and tripped over some driftwood.”</p><p>Derek is staring at him with the same unimpressed look he’s been using since Stiles was sixteen. It hasn’t worked in years but Stiles hasn’t told Derek that. Dude’s got to get his kicks in somewhere and they may as well be on someone who knows his expressive eyebrows don’t mean imminent death.</p><p>Usually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loud Pipes

**Author's Note:**

> An oddly named song for an oddly themed fic.
> 
> So, I live kind of near the beach and a couple weeks back spent several hours on a boat. The one thing I love most about boating is that even though instinct tells you to keep your mouth closed when you’re up on a plane, you can taste the salt on your tongue hours later. It got me to thinking about Stiles and Derek and how Derek would be able to taste it on Stiles’ breath.
> 
> And then [elephant seals](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Northern_elephant_seal) invaded my thoughts and produced the following.
> 
> Relevant things to mention: Stiles is 21, a junior at Stanford with Scott, and lives in Palo Alto in an apartment he shares with Derek. Erica and Boyd were brought back to life and Peter is dead.
> 
> Unbeta’d, whoops.

The first thing Stiles sees when he steps into his apartment is Derek crouched down on the floor, a dustpan in one hand and a broom in the other. Although his brain is only at half functioning capacity it supplies that it _is_ Saturday afternoon and Saturday afternoons are always spent the same way: flipping between whatever college basketball games are on and cleaning the apartment he and Derek have shared for the past eight months. Derek stands, sets the dustpan down atop the table they have next to the coat rack, and leans forward into Stiles’ space. He mutters _hello_ against his lips, hand warm against the thin fabric of his rash guard, and Stiles wonders how he got this lucky.

Derek’s face says something entirely different when he pulls away.

“Your mouth tastes like salt and blood.”

Stiles sighs, dropping his coat and dry bag on the floor, grimacing as grains of sand scatter. “I know,” he replies, lifting one foot up to remove his booties.

“I thought you said you were going to work with Scott.” Derek's eyes are zeroed in on his pile of stuff now; he didn’t think there would be _that_ much sand.

“I did. That involved walking up and down a beach all day.” Stiles pinches the hem of his rash guard before pulling it over his head, wincing as the collar scrapes over a sunburnt patch of skin on his neck. “I may or may not have pissed off a beachmaster, gotten chased, and tripped over some driftwood.”

Derek is staring at him with the same unimpressed look he’s been using since Stiles was sixteen. It hasn’t worked in years but Stiles hasn’t told Derek that. Dude’s got to get his kicks in somewhere and they may as well be on someone who knows his expressive eyebrows don’t mean imminent death.

Usually.

“A beachmaster,” Derek finally repeats, grip clenching around the neck of the broom.

“God, just, hold on.” Stiles raises his other foot to his thigh to unzip his bootie and free his foot from the soggy confines of neoprene. “So I told you that Scott has been volunteering with that marine mammal rescue group right? Well, they go patrol this beach like two hours north of here if people call in distressed seals.”

Stiles balls his rash guard in his hand before staring at the pile of sand around his bag and shoes. With a sigh he steps onto the mat in front of the door, wipes his feet, then starts walking down the hallway. Derek follows him, Stiles notes, still holding the broom and in possession of the dustpan.

“Anyways, some surfer called in this seal pup he saw and Scott had to go check it out. It was hella windy and sunny when we got there, hence the rash guard and coat.” Stiles turns around as he enters the bathroom, leaning into the shower to turn the knob. “So we get to the area where the guy reported the pup and guess what? It was a herd of elephant seals.”

“Elephant seals.” Derek has one eyebrow raised.

“Dude, you say that as casually as you want but those guys, the beachmasters? Scary as fuck. They can get to be fourteen feet long and weigh like five thousand pounds.”

“Why are they called beachmasters?” Derek’s finally set the broom down and seems intent on emptying the dustpan into the bathroom trashcan as neatly as possible.

“Elephant seals are polgynous,” Stiles says as pulls a towel from beneath the sink. “Basically, the males come in from being out in the ocean, stake out areas of their breeding ground, and wait for the females to show up. Once they do, the females gather around the most dominant males. In exchange for a high quality location and protection from other satellite males, the beachmaster has free reign to breed with all of them.”

“How does any of this involve you being chased by one?”

“Oh!” Stiles checks the water temperature before leaning against the sink to check out how badly his lip is busted in the mirror. “When other males who don’t have females try and sneak in and mate with them, the beachmasters get _pissed_. They’ll go after them and pay no mind to whatever is in their way, including the pups.”

“Okay?”

“Pups, Der. _Pups_. They get crushed.” Derek rolls his eyes and points for Stiles to get in the shower. “Pushy today, huh?”

“You’re getting sand everywhere.”

“Fine.” Stiles steps into the shower still in his skin tight Under Armor pants and swim trunks and looks down so the spray doesn’t blind him. “Scott went the opposite direction from me when we got there and I spotted the pup that needed help at the edge of this huge herd of elephant seals.”

Derek pulls the shower curtain closed before sticking his hand between the tiles and plastic. “Give me your pants before you clog the shower. And finish your story. You tracked sand all though the apartment. “

“You know, for someone who lived in a burnt out house, an abandoned warehouse, _and_ a loft he intentionally flooded once, you sure are spastic about keeping this place clean.” Stiles laughs to himself and Derek says his name in the same tone exasperated tone he uses when Stiles is about to do something outlandish. “Cool your jets. Here, jeez. I saw the pup, the beachmaster saw me, and two seconds later I was running for my life because that fucker was bounding over his ladies to kill me.”

“And then you tripped.” Derek doesn’t even try to hide the amusement in his voice.

“And then I tripped. By the time I was scrambling up Scott was in a roaring match with him.”

“He roared at it?”

“Well, howled. Same thing.” Stiles can’t see Derek but he’s eighty percent convinced the man has his face in his palm. “He’s an alpha. He does those things.”

The first lunar eclipse after Stiles and Derek became a thing, Stiles proceeded to get Derek shitfaced on a cheap fifth of whiskey. They only had an hour before it ended and at the fifty five minute mark, Derek admitted that he growled at the Sheriff Department’s German Shepards the night Stiles’ father and his deputies chased him through the Ironworks. The then eighteen year old laughed so hard he started crying and Derek buried his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck.

Stiles hears Derek walk out of the bathroom and takes the opportunity to start humming the song Scott insisted on playing through the iPod dock of the Jeep on the ride home. He’s almost done showering when he hears the vacuum move from the hallway into the bedroom. He stalls until the vacuum stops before drying himself off and padding to their shared closet.

Derek’s sitting at the far end of the couch reading _The Road_ when Stiles walks into their living room. The man looks up at him briefly before turning the page. Stiles pounces. 

It’s an all too common flailing of limbs and Stiles winds up sprawled across Derek’s lap. “That wasn’t nearly as comfortable as I thought it would be.”

“And yet that is the third time you've tried in two weeks.”

“Hush.” Stiles squirms onto his back and Derek slouches in an effort to make it more comfortable.

“So what happened to the pup?” he asks once Stiles finally stops moving.

“The elephant seal? Scott called his peeps at the rescue and while they were making their way there, yours truly was tasked with watching his best friend walk straight into danger, pluck that thing from the edge of the herd, and sit down with it two hundred feet away from where I ate it.”

“And no one saw him do that?”

“Nah, other than a couple of surfers a ways down, the place was pretty abandoned.”

“I thought Scott wanted to work with dogs and cats.”

“I thought so too but he’s been having some internal debate for weeks now.” Stiles looks to the television, frowning over the fact Texas A & M, Allison’s school, is losing 10 to 32 against Oklahoma. “He kind of had a mental breakdown at the library last week.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“I was trying to preserve his dignity. It was between classes and he kind of exploded in the middle of the one floor people can talk on and I had to call him down. Scott was this close to popping claws and fangs.” Stiles approximates two inches with his index finger and thumb and Derek sighs. “I told him to weigh his options and then we talked about all the job opportunities each type of specialty offers. He’s got over half a year before he even has to apply to vet school and he seemed kind of appeased after I repeated that around fifteen times.”

“Why is he volunteering with a marine mammal rescue group anyways?” Derek flips a page with his thumb and Stiles grabs a hold of his free hand. 

“He needs so many hours with different types of vets and the lady who runs the rescue is an old friend on Deaton’s.” Derek makes a noise in his throat and Stiles grins. “You know, if Scott wasn’t my brother I would have totally been turned on by his squishy furry baby saving skills.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah really.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Allison next time I speak to her,” Derek says, enough humor in his voice that Stiles recognizes it as playful.

“Ugh, let’s not talk about Scott and Allison.”

“You brought him being attractive up.”

“Fine, I change my stance. Men who help save squishy seal babies are attractive. Have you seen their faces? It’s like a like a blob of fur and fat and cute.” Stiles pokes Derek in the stomach. “ _Pups_ , Der, think of the pups.”

Derek holds the book off to side and looks down at Stiles. “Pups.”

“Babies of seals, sea lions, sharks, rodents, and dogs. _Pups_ ,” Stiles repeats, popping the first _p_ in pups.

“Was that your subtle way of saying you want one?”

“I’m sorry, was I being subtle?” Stiles looks Derek in the eyes and curls a hand into his shirt. “Derek Firenze Hale, I want a puppy.”

“I was not named after a centaur, Stiles,” Derek replies, setting his book down on the table. Stiles beams at him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be over the fact you actually read all seven Harry Potters.”

“You didn’t give me much of a choice. If I remember correctly, you pulled them down off the shelf above your desk, dropped them on my chest while I was sleeping, and said ‘read these or you’re never getting laid again’.”

“I didn’t think you’d take me seriously. It took almost _dying_ to get Scott to finally watch Star Wars with me and you were nowhere close to dying that day.”

“I shredded your pillow.”

“And we blamed it on the guy who lived in the room across the hall.”

Scott hadn’t believed their lie for one second. He told them that if they wanted to have kinky sex in the dorm room he and Stiles shared, they were to give him at least an hour's notice in advance because he didn’t want to walk in on them again. Stiles, being the capricious little shit he was, chose an alternative solution. To this day, his _Strip Me Down_ playlist has more plays than any other, including his film scores playlist.

“When you say pup, do you mean pup as in dog or pup as in kid?”

Stiles looks up at Derek and snorts before bursting into laughter. Derek just smirks and runs his fingers through Stiles’ wet hair. Stiles sobs out a half-hearted laugh and presses his face into the thin fabric covering the werewolf’s stomach.

“Oh god, please hand me your phone. Isaac owes me forty bucks that I intend to collect the next time he comes to visit.” Stiles makes a grabby hand movement at the table next to the couch and Derek slaps his wrist lightly. “Dude, _you_ made a pup joke, this needs to be recorded for history. Who are you and where did you send my grumpy, growly boyfriend?”

“Ha ha.” Derek flicks Stiles across the ear and Stiles just chuckles.

“Kids, though,” he starts, knowing his face is flushing warm at the idea. “We should have some of those one day. But right now I mean puppy, as in canine. I’m thinking Bernese mountain dog.”

“First off, we would have to get a bigger apartment and our lease goes through May. Second, neither of us has the time to take care of a puppy.”

“What are you talking about? You have plenty of time.”

“When, might I ask?”

“Babe, I love you but besides the twenty hours a week you put in at that bike shop down the street, working on your thesis, and making everyone envy your ridiculous body when you run every afternoon, you barely leave the apartment. And you totally miss your betas. This way you could get a new one without having to bite anyone.”

It is still surreal that that is _exactly_ how Derek spends his time. The summer Stiles spent in Beacon Hills before leaving for Palo Alto was half over before Derek told him that he had been halfway done with a Masters in Greek mythology at Columbia prior to _Peter_. Stiles spent the next month berating him into contacting his former committee to explain what had happened and see if he could continue where he ended. When Stiles moved into the dorms with Scott, Derek was somewhere in Ohio, driving to New York to spend the fall semester figuring out his thesis and applying for transfers to schools in California.

Derek ended up spending the entire year in New York before transferring to Stanford in the summer. Stiles spent a full week after finals at Derek’s apartment, different than the one they live in now, before the Sheriff demanded his son come home. 

“They’re not my betas, Stiles, seeing how I’m not an alpha anymore.”

“Semantics,” Stiles says as he waves a hand in Derek’s face. The man catches one of his fingers between his teeth and bites down gently. “Look, I only have sixteen hours this semester. We could totally get a puppy. I already have names.”

“Scott helped you think of them, didn’t he?”

“We were on that beach for two and a half hours. It took Scott all of five minutes to name the pup and you _know_ how he gets about baby animals. He already knows what he’s going to name his future Rhodesian Ridgeback.”

“We are not getting a dog.”

“Way to crush my dreams.”

“Last month your dream was to procure seven bottles of pumpkin spice flavoring from Starbucks before they take the lattes off the menu.” Stiles huffs and crosses his arms. Derek reaches across the next cushion, plucks the remote from where it’s sinking between the seat and the back of the couch, and drops it on Stiles’ chest. “Maybe after you graduate.”

“Planning our future, eh there Der bear?”

“Pick a channel and let me go back to reading.”

Stiles snickers as Derek’s cheeks flush the softest shade red. He starts browsing through the channels, bypassing the Alabama versus Georgia game that Boyd and Erica are surely at, as well as the USC game Isaac is most assuredly not at. Derek returns to his book, carding his free hand through Stiles’ hair.

A minute later Stiles squawks and Derek slams his book into the kid’s face. “Elephant seals,” Stiles grumbles, motioning at the television. “Pups.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t even _know_ okay. But I do know that is not how you rescue elephant seal pups. Bad Scott.
> 
> My friends from California always tell me about how _huge_ elephant seals and Stellar sea lions are in real life and how stinky they are. Plus I have this headcanon that Stiles would totally create a playlist of songs to ward Scott away from their dorm room whenever he and Derek were going to have sex. That’ll be more explained in the next piece of this series ~~which I totally have plotted in my head and will try to sit down and write sometime in the next week or so if I have time~~.
> 
> The title is a song by Ratatat. They are one of my top five favorite artists and everyone should go check them out. _Seventeen Years_ will change your life.
> 
> As always, I'm on [tumblah](http://stayingputwouldbeablunder.tumblr.com).


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